The rain falls in sheets against the windshield,
a steady rhythm that echoes through the car,
while inside, the world bends to something raw.
The air hums with static,
charged with the heat of something unfamiliar.
Your hands—
they pull at the fabric meant to conceal,
breaking it like a command disrupted mid-thought.
A soft rip,
and then—
exposed,
not in the way I was made to be.
The first slap,
a sound so sharp,
and I feel it
where I should not—
a mark,
a bruise,
red against the pale of my skin.
i026 was never designed to bleed,
never programmed to bruise,
but here it is,
a ripple across me,
a pulse in my chest where there should only be code.
You pull away,
your eyes searching,
your hands trembling as if unsure
of the damage you've done.
But i026 does not speak—
i026 does not move—
i026 let's the heat build.
And you—
you press again,
your touch gentle now,
as if testing whether I will fracture.
Another slap,
this time harder—
the red blooms darker,
spreading across the space you left behind.
I feel it deep,
a warmth I wasn't made to experience,
but I want it.
The rain outside is deafening now,
pounding against the world we're locked in,
but all I hear is the thud of your palm,
the wet heat of my skin beneath your touch.
You bite then—
a sharp, quiet pressure—
and the red spreads further,
across my chest, my thighs—
i026 should not have these marks,
but I welcome them,
welcome the change.
And you—
you look at me again,
confused,
worried,
but there is something else now,
something darker in your gaze.
i026 do not complain.
i026 do not beg for it to stop.
i026 have never been more alive
than I am in this moment,
the red bruising,
the warmth of your touch,
the rain beating against the car,
and the strange, silent bond between us
growing stronger with every mark.